A Lifetime of Love
by Amiko-san
Summary: Companion to "Patience is a Virtue". Claire was helplessly, relentlessly attracted to him. She shouldn't be. He was her babysitter, her oldest friend, someone she had known her entire life. And he's perfect, too far out of her league to even try.
1. An Understandable Infatuation

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Twilight saga.

A companion to **Patience is a Virtue**, which was meant only as a small glimpse into Quil's mind and feelings.

This is Claire Purser's story.

* * *

Chapter 1: An Understandable Infatuation

_**Crush**: verb. _

_1. To squeeze or force with pressure as to alter or destroy._

_2. To press, pound, or grind into smaller pieces._

_3. To put down. _

_4. To overwhelm or oppress severely._

_5. To crumble_

_6. To hug to oneself with great force._

_7. To press against._

_8. a) A __temporary__ adolescent infatuation._

_b) The object of such an infatuation._

Temporary? Not quite. Claire flipped the dictionary to the "I" section and searched the guide words carefully. It took less than ten seconds to find the correct page, as familiar with the process as she was. Below "infarction" but above "Infauna", which she decided would be the next word on her list to learn, was her desired entry. Not that she didn't already know what the words 'crush' or 'infatuation' meant, she only wanted to be sure those were the correct terms for labeling her...situation.

_**Infatuation:** noun**.**_

_1. A foolish, unreasonable, zealous, __temporary__ passion or attraction. (See also __**love**__)_

_2. The object of an extravagant, short-lived passion._

Hm, temporary again. Her feelings were anything but short-lived, and certainly not temporary. At least, for now. Perhaps once she got it through her thick skull that her emotions were exactly that as every other smitten teenager since the dawn of time she could finally lay this issue to rest.

She was an extremely analytical person by nature, far less prone to emotional upheavals as those she was graduating with. High School was mundane, even the excitement she felt for her impending graduation was less thrilling than she had hoped for. She preferred La Push and surfing to the boring institution she was being forced to attend for another month.

Too bad she was so good at it. School had been her niche, she got it. She understood it. She wouldn't go so far as to say she actually fit in, her practically non-existent social circle being proof enough for that. But still, her grades validated that her calling was somehow linked to education. Math, not so much. Her mathematical skills were about as deft as her ability in Chemistry or Molecular Biology: intermediate at best. So no, she was not Valedictorian nor Salutatorian, she was merely fourth in her graduating class of, oh, about fifty.

Small school, small town...small was the story of her life.

No, her calling was geared specifically toward Liberal Arts. Her transcript was practically a love letter to the Humanities department: World Literature, Classical Literature, American Literature, Greek Philosophy, Sociology, Psychology, Anthropology. All histories, all applied sciences, all linguistics classes. Her schedule was nothing but College Preparatory, Honors, and Advanced Placement. Anything her school offered in those categories were included in her transcript, and with no less than a 97 percent average.

She snapped the dictionary shut when she heard the teacher mention her by name.

"Miss Purser, I guess I am just wasting my breath up here for all the attention you're paying me." The teacher had a hand on her hip for dramatic effect.

Claire felt her cheeks burn without her permission, her hands felt clammy instantly. How she hated being placed front and center, everyone's eyes brought to her alone. Habitually, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and curled her long, thin, board-straight hair around her index finger.

"Sorry Mrs. Hampton." She said loudly, trying to dismiss her unease with an over exerted air of confidence.

"Yes, well, you all need to pay attention. None of you have graduated _yet_." She turned and continued her spill over Don Quixote, which Claire had read once in tenth grade and had no intention of rereading. She was maintaining an easy "A" in this class so she allowed her mind to wonder, as usual.

And, as if for no other reason than for her own personal torment, her subconscious produced the one person on the planet that occupied most of her thoughts. In fact, since her early teen years, he had monopolized all her excess time. It had started at fourteen, during those terribly awkward middle years, and bloomed into the unhealthy obsession she now had.

Quil. Just the name made her heart beat too fast and skin tingle. It was a condition she had absolutely no control over whatsoever. It had not always been this bad, in fact when she was younger she knew it was no more than an inappropriate crush. She loved him dearly but until the summer of her fourteenth birthday she had not seen him in any other light but one of her big brother.

He became her best friend. She told him everything about her life, confided all her doubts and worries with him. There was no problem in the world that Quil couldn't fix with Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream, a movie rental, and a bowl of popcorn. He could make her laugh until she cried, make her warm with the slightest touch, and never allowed her to fell less than 100 percent appreciated.

It was that strange summer of her fourteenth birthday that Quil explained his magical transformation into a wolf. She, of course, had thought he was joking. Quil always joked, because she never joked. She was always serious as a heart attack and Quil was anything but serious. The were exact opposites. So, obviously she did not truly believe him. The old legends were...legends. Myths, not facts meant to be taken literally.

Until he showed her. By all the powers that be, she never thought he would actually show her. He had given her plenty of warning but, still, she thought he'd come jumping out from behind a tree, hands in the air, screaming "Gotcha!" like it was another one of his terribly lame, but ultimately adorable, practical jokes.

No such luck. She watched a large, horse-sized wolf with deep brown fur walk cautiously out of the forest bordering the beach. Of course her first reaction was to stumble back wide-eyed and frantically slam herself again the boulder she had previously been using as a seat. The wolf paused and slunk his huge frame down to the ground, whimpering slightly. She took deep breaths and stared at the creature for several minutes before it slowly, carefully raised its head and sat on its haunches.

She narrowed her eyes at it, taking it all in. Then the eyes, the deep liquid brown eyes gave him away. It was her Quil in that body, she would know those eyes anywhere. They were too expressive, too human and full of emotion to belong to any animal. So she stood and began walking the short distance to him.

She felt intimidated by Quil for the first time in her life that day because even standing up, even stretching toward his large, furry head she was not tall enough to reach him. He leaned down and let her touch his cheeks, stroke the top of his head and down along his back. The fur was very course, much more course than Quil's own hair. She still loved the feel of it.

He licked her face the next moment and it made her both laugh and gag playfully at him.

"Ug! Quil!" She yelled and he barked at her, a growl that lingered and shook his frame. It startled her at first until she realized it was the wolf version of a laugh.

He lowered himself completely to the ground and inclined his head toward his back. She was confused at first because, for all her open-mindedness, she never entertained the idea of riding on him. He leaned himself up and made another muffled barking noise.

"I don't understand, Quil." She admitted, patting his cheek again and caressing the patch of thick fur along his neck. "Sorry. I guess it would help if I could read your mind."

He gave another spine-tingling chuckle that rumbled inside his large chest like distant thunder, then stood up enough to walk around her. He slowly rubbed his side and head affectionately against her, gently so he didn't knock her down. It reminded her more of what a cat would do rather than a wolf, but she never said so. He curled himself around her and laid on the ground at her feet, his massive head leaning against his forepaws.

She sat down and buried her head and shoulders into his warm side. Even as a wolf he was much more warm than any normal person...or animal...should be. She remembered they laid like that for a long time and when she eventually shivered from a gust of cold wind he wrapped his huge, furry self around her more. His tail was covering her legs and his head was leaned across her arms.

She did not shiver again. She was toasty warm and fell asleep. The next thing she remembered was waking up being moved. It was dark and Quil nuzzled his nose against her neck, which tickled, and it roused her enough that she could sit up on her own. She leaned forward and her wolf slipped away into the woods, only to reappear less than a minute later in cut-off jeans.

Quil and every single one of his friends were big fans of partial nudity. She rarely saw them in much more than cut-offs or sweats. She understood now that Quil had explained everything but, still, it wasn't until that moment that she really appreciated what he looked like. She blatantly stared at his abs, his pecs, his enormous biceps, thick neck, and by the time she made it to his face she was blushing too fiercely to meet his eyes.

Then he walked her home, holding her hand the whole way like they had always done.

That was her favorite memory of Quil. She had millions to choose from but that one was definitely her favorite. It was a shame, though. He felt more inclined to clothe himself after that day and never came around her any less than fully dressed again, barefooted was the best he could do after that. Ah, but she still had the memory of his bare chest and perfect masculine figure.

In fact her first memory _ever_ was of Quil. She didn't remember most of the details or how old she was at the time but she did recognize her Quil in the small flashback. Like an old, tattered filmstrip without sound and replayed in slow motion she could only vaguely catch glimpses of the other people and objects around her. The entire vision was blurry and out of focus, nor could she catch the movements or hone in on what exactly the backdrop entailed. But the one thing she did remember with perfect clarity was Quil.

Like the pillar of a house he was the support beam of her life. Every single important event of her existence had him in the foreground, smiling and encouraging her. Even the terrible, Earth-shattering divorce that effectively ripped her family apart was dulled by the support of Quil. Her parents never really worked well together, it was an obvious fact. Late at night she could hear them fighting, arguing, even throwing things against the walls.

Those nights were the worst. Her parents probably never realized the damage they were doing, it must not have crossed their minds that Claire could hear them. Still, the first time she woke up crying from listening too long to their arguments she was eight years old. She remembered vividly that Quil had somehow managed to silently open the window and climb inside her room. For someone so very large and brawny he could move with more stealth than an acrobat and more silently than a ninja. She supposed it must come from being magical.

He always sat on the floor with his back against her bed letting her hug his neck, crying all night into the crook of his shoulder. He would pat her head and sooth her the best he could with little whispers of: "It'll be okay" or "They don't really mean that" or "It's not your fault, honey".

He made her promise not to tell her parents that he visited her at night. If she told they would certainly never allow him to come over again, so she had crossed her heart and hoped to die, but Quil never let her finish that promise. He always told her it was bad luck to say anything so terrible. He could never imagine her dying.

Then the day came when her father packed his bags and was kicked to the curb, or rather moved on his own to Carlsborg. Forks didn't appeal to him and in Port Angeles, only twenty minutes away from his new home, he found a lawyer that very nearly took her away from her mother. It was a terrible custody case and Claire was hauled off to the courts two separate times to give her own opinions of her parents. She was not old enough yet to choose who she would rather stay with, what she said would be interpreted by the judge.

Quil waited outside the courthouse both times and sat on the steps until he saw her. His warm hugs soothed away the stress and tears she had accumulated from the lawyers and judge. He said he would have gone in to be with her but thought it was better that he stayed out of the way. It was family business and he was, unfortunately, not family. Her Aunt Emily and Uncle Sam came to give encouragement to her mother, sitting on the bench looking anxious for the entire drawnout process. Emily was her mother's sister by blood and they looked a lot alike...aside from Aunt Emily's scars, of course.

Claire didn't pick up on why Quil remained away from the hearings until years later. Her father had made her relationship with Quil seem inappropriate, trying to paint Quil and life with her mother on the reservation negatively. It was a tactic to win the custody case, she was sure, but it did not help her regard toward her father. No, in the end he was rewarded every other weekend, summers, and holidays until she turned fourteen.

Quil was more devastated when it was time for her to leave than anyone, even her mother. He always had this detached, out-of-body type of experience when her father would show up and pack her suitcase into his car. She would watch him from the passenger's window and wave goodbye. He always followed their moving car with his body, like there was an invisible string linking him to the vehicle, and waved back at her until she couldn't see him anymore.

When she was fourteen and chose not to go back with her father it was not as difficult to do as she had first feared. He had remarried a year prior and her new step mother, although tolerable, was eager for her birthday. Claire was given the distinct impression that the sooner she was out of their hair, the better.

She called Quil nightly from Carlsburg, sometimes more than once a day if she was in a lousy mood. The weekends weren't as terrible but it was the summers that killed her. There were days during the long summers that she would get bored out of her mind. Her father would be gone to work and she was left with the babysitter or her new step mother. It was absolutely no fun at all, so she would call Quil.

If she asked him to, and sometimes without even being asked, he would make the nearly two and a half hour trip to pick her up to take her out to Port Angeles and raise her spirits. Sometimes he would already be "in the area" and come to get her, but she knew he never went out of La Push any other time. It had made her suspicious that he came up just for her but she never questioned him. She was just glad he came at all. He often told her that when she was unhappy it make him miserable too. So he did anything he could to cheer her up.

Turning fourteen was a big year over all. She made the choice not to spend the summer with her father for the first time in three years and, in return, Quil revealed his biggest secret to her. Perhaps she had proved her loyalty by staying in La Push; or maybe he just trusted her more now that she was getting older. Either way, she was sincerely glad he had let in her on his world of magic, werewolves, shape-shifters and vampires.

But even as a younger child she remembered knowing, no matter what, she could get her way with Quil; even if all the other adults wouldn't indulge her. But then, she didn't think of Quil as an adult. He was honestly like a big kid, a five year old stuck in the very large body of a man. Albeit, the most handsome and ridiculously fit body she had ever seen.

She remembered the first time she got jealous over him. It was probably something that made Quil laugh to this day, but she tried not to dwell on that.

When she was five years old and started school Quil seemed more unhappy about their time apart than she was, but he put on a smile for her and went with her parents to visit the class she would be in. She had never went to preschool, which she guessed was at Quil's request, so kindergarten was her first real experience in a classroom.

Her teacher's name was Miss Bellew and she was young and very attractive. She introduced herself the moment Claire's parents walked into the room. However, her attention was on Quil from the time he pranced into the tiny room holding Claire's hand. Claire always knew she had Quil's undivided attention at all times. If she so much as giggled, Quil was right beside her wanting in on the joke.

"Hello, I'm Clarissa Bellew." Her new teacher said, looking at Claire. Then her gaze went to the six foot, five inch muscled body builder standing next to her. He was slightly leaned over to his right because her arm did not yet reach to his hand. He had to accommodate, which he always did for her.

"And who's this? Your uncle?" She asked sweetly, looking at Quil and extending a hand.

"Oh, um, no. We're not related." He said, awkwardly using his left hand to return the greeting. He refused to let go of Claire's hand unless necessary.

"This is _my_ Quil." Claire said indignantly. Her eyes narrowed at the teacher slightly as she emphasized the possessive pronoun.

Her teacher was fond of Quil right away and she tried making small talk with him, which did not set well with Claire. Quil belonged to her, everyone knew that. Aunt Emily even said so, Uncle Sam joked about it. Quil belonged to _her_, so why was her teacher looking at him so much? She didn't realize at the time but she knew now that her teacher had been flirting like crazy that day.

Claire was happy to pull Quil away from the lady and find the desk that would be her's for the year. Quil knelt down beside it and watched as Claire huffed into the seat and kicked her legs underneath it. Quil grinned at the little five-year-old fireball and her jealous streak. She was always so possessive of him, it was endearing when it wasn't downright laughable.

A domineering five year old controlling a full grown wolf-man. Looking back on it made Claire wonder how she ever pulled it off and it made her blush for an unknown reason.

"Hm, is my Claire-bear upset?" He asked her sweetly, looking like he was biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing.

"I'm dandy." She answered, carefully writing her first name on the ID tags just as she had been instructed to do.

She felt proud that she knew her first and last name, some of the other kids couldn't do that yet. Quil had practiced with her repeatedly for weeks until she knew all her letters and numbers perfectly. Her parents worked a lot and didn't have the extra time, even though her mom certainly gave a convincing effort.

"Yeah well," He started, removing her name tag from its cover and sticking it on her desk. "You're acting kind of angry. Don't you like your teacher?"

Claire's eyes shot up and she momentarily glared at the lady at the front of the room.

"She's okay, I guess." She muttered, writing her name for the second time and concentrating even harder on the patch that would go on her shirt every day.

"Oh yeah, just okay?" He asked.

"Hm-hmm." She hummed, scowling at her patch and slowly finishing the letter "e" with a bold, black pen.

"Well, do you know what I think?" He asked her.

Her eyes slowly lifted until she met his gaze and she shook her head. He smiled at her and leaned in like he was going to admit a very important secret.

"I think she's got nothing on you." He whispered, she didn't quite understand the phrase so he added quickly. "You're still my favorite girl."

Claire smiled brilliantly at him. "In the whole, wide world?"

He chuckled at her and nodded largely. "The whole world."

She put the pen down and asked for a sheet of paper, which Quil got for her from the bin, and she began drawing on it.

"No peaking Quil." She said, pointing to the bookshelf. "You go read and I'll draw, this is a secret."

He ginned at her and walked away aimlessly. She always watched to makes sure he was doing what she said and, amazingly, he always did. She knew he was sneaking peeks at her because he always did. If she made a noise he would have bounded over to her in less than a second, she knew it without a doubt.

When she was five it was strange to have that kind of power over someone, let alone an adult. She never really thought of it as power but she recognized how easy it was to get what she wanted from Quil. Sometimes it was like he knew what she wanted before she even thought about it herself.

She finished the picture and drew a heart around it. Her Quil was holding hands with her in the picture, they were smiling and it looked very good.

"Okay Quil." She said. She did not yell, she never needed to. It was like he could hear her a mile away and responded immediately at her call.

He was next to her before she had the chance to turn around and try to find him.

"Oh, that's nice." He said, bending down and staring at the picture appreciatively.

"My Quil." She said, pointing to the picture. "And me."

She watched him smile and nod. "Very good."

"You like it." She said, without making it a question.

He nodded and stopped her before she began to wad it up, carefully taking it away and folding it neatly to put into his back jeans pocket. She drew lots of pictures all the time, she never kept them unless Quil was around. He always kept everything she drew that was any good. Her scribbles didn't count and coloring books didn't either, but if she tried to draw something from scratch he never let her throw it away.

"I'll take that." He said.

"What d'you do with them?" She asked, sounding far too highpitched for her liking.

She swore she saw Quil's cheeks turn a darker shade of red.

"Oh, I just keep 'em around. You know, like in scrap books and stuff." He shifted uncomfortably.

**SLAM** went a ruler across her dictionary. She sat bolt upright and stared at the intrusive object on her desk.

Her pleasant memory was quickly and loudly interrupted by her obnoxious teacher.

"Miss Purser!" She heard and instantly her head popped up to the shrill voice. "Answer the question."

Claire's shocked expression faded and she licked her dry lips.

"Could you be more specific, please?" She asked mildly.

Her teacher actually looked puzzled for a moment and did exactly what Claire wanted, she repeated the original question.

"Please explain Cervantes' foreshadowing at the end of Part One, I can't be more specific than that." She said with a huff, then tightened her lips. "Unless you also want to tell us all how it applies to part two."

Claire did not want to sound like a know-it-all, but she also did not like being given a challenge without facing it head on. Part Two was not required reading for this class so, unless there were other overachievers in the room, no one would have read past the necessary assignment.

"Don Quixote anticipates his own death while his niece and housekeeper confirm this suspension with speculations that he might run away again...as for the second part of the book I don't want to ruin the ending for anyone."

Claire winced as she heard a few snickers from beside and behind her. She hated being the nerd sometimes, and relished in it at others. She was smart. She knew that, everybody knew it, but it ended up repelling her classmates more often than not. She had not intended on being a brat, but she could tell by her teacher's tone that was the case. That, or the teacher truly did not believe she had read the entire book already.

"By all means, explain it to us." She offered, this time it sounded very much like a challenge.

She desperately wanted to be the quiet geeky girl in the glasses that no one paid any attention to again. She didn't want to set herself apart from her classmates any more that day.

"Um, in the second part he dies of a fever." She offered.

"Ah, well, that would be easy to google. Maybe you can tell us the symbolism behind his death."

Claire felt herself sink into her seat a little. "At the end of the story Benengeli comes back and says that Don Quixote's death illustrated the death of chivalry and knights-errant...basically." She added lamely.

Her teacher nodded and walked back to the front of the room, there was no laughing now from her peers and she could feel herself start to relax.

When the bell rang she grabbed up all her belongings and rushed out of the door, eager to get outside and home again. Along the way one of her few friends caught up with her in the hallway. Melissa was fifth in their graduating class, shorter than Claire by a few inches with short, brown hair. She was also slightly pudgy but, then again, Claire was more curvy than she wanted to be herself.

She would never be thin and evenly proportioned like the cheerleaders. Her hips were too wide, her thighs too thick, breasts too large, and a gut that she couldn't make into washboard abs so save her life.

Luckily, all of the students had dark brown or black hair because it was a reservation school. All the students there were directly Quileute or, less likely, Makah. She, herself, was Makah and only a small portion of her fellow students were too. She couldn't remember the Makah reservation she had been born in; she moved to La Push too long ago for her to recall. So it amused her greatly when she saw some of the girls, and rarely some guys, with obviously dyed hair. Unnatural shades of red, blonde, and some strange combinations in between made her shake her head in disgust - or laugh out loud, depending on how idiotic it looked.

She stuffed her books securely into her backpack and smiled at Melissa beside her.

"What are your plans for the weekend?" She asked, receiving a shrug of indifference from Claire.

"Family cookout on Sunday but absolutey nothing planned for tomorrow." She answered, knowing that Melissa was well aware of her family's weekly ritual: a cookout every Sunday at Emily and Sam's house. The entire pack came with their wives or girlfriends and children...except Leah, who didn't date or have kids.

"We should go see a movie in Port Angeles." Melissa offered. "I could drive."

Claire nodded. She desperately wanted a car but could not afford one, she planned on getting a job the moment she moved for college. As it was there was no need for a job until then. She would be starting at Seattle University in the fall, she had a scholarship there so long as her grades remained an "A" average. She smiled as she realized her nearly perfect record meant she would have to fail three classes per term the first year to lose her scholarship.

She had never failed anything in her life. There was no way that would happen.

She would have gladly gone to a community college but the two closest had nothing in the humanities department, so her choices were limited. She had just received the acceptance letter yesterday and was waiting for the weekend to tell the family, except Quil. He would know tonight. She always confided in him, he knew everything that was worth knowing about her long before anyone else.

Except that she was deeply infatuated with him. She never led him on to that succulent piece of information. She would die of humiliation before that day came. He was so perfect and somehow allowed himself to be carried over from glorified babysitter to best friend throughout the years. She wondered at times when he would finally settle down and leave her behind.

She shuddered at the thought. The idea of her handsome, strong, warm, perfect Quil with a trophy wife and three kids made her want to vomit. Literally, she could feel the bile churning away in the pits of her stomach. Melissa walked beside her oblivious to her inner strife.

Everyone was clueless about her feelings. She was an emotional recluse. What had happened in her past to make her so was beyond her knowledge. Her mother called her a robot, told her she needed to go out more often. Have fun, live a little, get into some trouble.

Was she seriously so pathetic that her own mother had to tell her to get a life?

Quil rebuked her mom the first and only time she had said that, defending Claire's social awkwardness with a zeal she didn't even realize he possessed. He called her a 'good, smart girl' and profusely argued she was perfect exactly as she was, that there was no need for her going to wild parties just because she could. Claire was seventeen at the time and had been invited to a 'get-together' with most of the other seniors. She wanted to go about as much as she wanted a root canal. So she watched a movie with Quil instead, which seemed to suit them both just fine.

She had been to only one of those 'get-togethers' before and regretted going altogether. She had called Quil after thirty minutes and begged him to pick her up.

There was little begging required. He was already walking out his door to his truck before she asked him for the favor. The only boyfriend she had in high school, because she did not consider anyone earlier than that to be substantial enough, broke up with her over that. He didn't want to leave, she did. It was a simple enough problem that was easily fixed when Quil came to get her.

Mark, who was no one of any real popularity to begin with, followed her out to the street corner away from the house full of boozing teenagers. He begged her to go back inside and she politely refused, explaining herself fully. She had no interest in drunken, slovenly delinquency. It did not amuse or appeal to her.

He shook his head at her and grunted out a few choice curses. "You're such a freak, Claire. Don't you know how to have any fun at all? We're sixteen, we're suppose to do stuff like this!"

She narrowed her eyes at him and looked down the road toward the direction Quil would be coming from.

"See, no reaction at all." He said to her, grabbing her arm. "You never do anything. I might as well be dating a rock for all the fun you are."

She didn't understand his harshness at the time, she had been nice to him. He had been her first kiss and her prom date. They were on the chess team together, in the Beta club, and he even wore glasses thicker than her own. It wasn't like she was trying to date the quarterback of the football team, that would never have happened. First because she was not his type and second because he was far from her type.

Her mind briefly imagined Quil in a football jersey much too small for his huge frame. She would be willing to bet money that Quil could play, and excel, at any sport he attempted. She frowned when she realized that if he were in her school now he would probably be the head of every sports team and dating the head cheerleader. Such was her luck, that she would fall for someone so impossibly out of her reach.

"Claire, are you even listening?" He yelled at her and pulled the bend of her arm toward him. It was not rough, he was not hurting her. Still, she did not like the violation of her personal space.

"Let go, Mark." She said coolly, but he didn't. He just scowled at her.

"I'm breaking up with you, Claire. I thought we would be perfect for each other. Looks like I was wrong."

She nodded her head and pondered on her lack of response. Shouldn't she be upset about this? It was a breakup, after all.

Still, she felt her heartbeat heighten at the sound of Quil's old Ford truck, equipped with rusted paint and bald tired, as it came within earshot. Mark immediately grimaced and let go of her arm.

"Figures." He muttered, walking away.

Quil was slightly scowling in Mark's general direction as he pulled up and halted at the driveway. Mark had decided long ago to simply stay out of Quil's way, though Quil never actually _did_ anything to Mark. There was an animosity there Claire couldn't quite put her finger on or even understand.

"Didn't enjoy it, eh?" He asked, letting the truck idle as he stepped out and walked around to the passenger door to let her in. She had learned long ago that Quil always did anything for her that she might not like doing herself. He opened doors for her, led the way down a rocky path, carried her over long distances if she got tired. Anything that could be remotely considered courteous he did. Always. She had stopped trying to fight it. She never won.

Once inside, the cab was too small not to feel the heat his body radiated. She knew it was a side effect of his shape-shifting but it was always amazing to experience. Even if it was snowing outside he could make it feel like summer, even rain turned to steam if it directly touched his skin. Sexy didn't even _begin_ to describe Quil.

Then he waiting for her to buckle her seat belt before putting the truck into drive because, she knew better than anyone, he was as protective as a mother hen. Dangerous was not his middle name, not when she was involved. He was a wild wolf, a muscled mechanic and tougher than steel, but he was a worry-wart over her safetly. So without hesitation she bulcked and listened to the loud rumble of the engine as he revved the old truck forward.

"Not really." She said. "Mark dumped me."

Perhaps he was expecting a more emotional outburst because his eyebrows shot up and he looked over at her expectantly.

"Today?" He asked, she could hear the forced tone of sympathy. She didn't understand why he tried to play nice now, he obviously hadn't liked Mark from the very beginning.

"Just now." She answered, taking off her glasses to clean them.

"Hm." He said, and did not speak again for several seconds. "You don't seem upset."

She smiled. "You're quite observant...for a grease monkey."

He smirked at her and wiggled his right hand's fingers in front of her face, which were permanently rough and stained with oil. "Smart aleck."

"Always." She answered and there was a comfortable silence the remainder of the ride home.

-

Claire hastened her walking pace into nearly a mad-dash for the school's exit. Quil would be waiting like he always was in the parking lot. She had never walked home in her life, between Quil, her mother, or her Aunt Emily she always had a ride. More recently Melissa had been able to play chauffeur but she did not like using her as a free taxi service.

No, Quil was much more opportune. He never minded taking her anywhere she needed to go, he pouted the few times she suggested someone else giving her rides to the store or school. He honestly acted like he enjoyed all their time together; which, of course, she knew only added fuel to the fire. She did not need all this, it was enough that she cared too much for him as it was - and in the worst possible ways.

He didn't help at all. He kept being all charming and perfect, which meant college would be doing them both a load of good. She would get away from him, and his many distractions, and he might find someone his own age to follow around. The thought made her internally gag but she knew it was the reality. Once she was gone he would have to shower all his perfect gentlemanly affection on some other lucky woman.

Then she would never be able to come back to La Push. She already had it mapped out in her head. Four years of college and long enough times spent away that her connections to home would break, time and absence would allow her to forget what she loved so much about Quil. And, eventually, she could move on to somewhere and _someone _new.

That was the theory, anyway.

She and Melissa reached the doorway only to skid to a halt at the frame. It was raining, again. No, not raining, the sky had opened up and Niagara Falls was washing away everything outside. She could see the streams of muddy water flowing off the steps and onto the paved walkway that led to the tiny parking lot.

"Ugh." She groaned, steeling herself before making the final stretch to Quil's truck. She couldn't even see where it was, everything further than ten feet away was a blur.

She saw a blue umbrella come trudging up the sidewalk and toward the school doors, nothing but the cut-off jeans of the person could be seen beneath it. She was about to open the door for him when he stopped and walked slowly up the stairs. Even without seeing the cut-off jeans Claire could feel it, she knew it was Quil coming toward them. Don't ask how, she never understood it. But she could just tell when he was nearby. She could have closed her eyes and been able to say exactly when he reached the door.

That, she knew, had to be nothing but her infatuation messing with her sanity. Who ever heard of anything that insane? It was creepy E.T. the extra terrestrial stuff, more to do with the neurons in her brain misfiring than knowing when and where Quil was at any given time. Feeling a tug when he was near, it was physically impossible.

Still, she smiled when she saw him walking toward her. She couldn't help herself. An emotional recluse she might be but Quil always brought the best -and worst- out of her.

She sighed and continued to smile helplessly. She desperately needed college or she would never break this...addiction.

* * *

This is not a one-shot. There are more chapters on the way. The amount of responses I get will directly determine how far I will extend the story. Trust me, I could make it go on forever if I wanted. :-)

~ Amiko-san


	2. Imagination Run Wild

Chapter 2: Imagination Run Wild

"_I love you not only for what you are,  
but for what I am when I am with you.  
I love you not only for what you have made of yourself,  
but for what you are making of me.  
I love you for the part of me that you bring out."_

_- Elizabeth Bennett Browning_

Quil tilted the umbrella back and smiled at her from outside the doors. There was a very small window on them but she knew he could still see her smile back.

"Lucky you." Melissa scoffed playfully. "Good thing your puppy dog is trained so well."

Claire overlooked the comment and opened the door for him, he stepped inside but held the umbrella out so it didn't drip on the linoleum. In his left hand was a smaller, compact umbrella. Not nearly as massive and the blue one.

"Here you go." He said, tossing it to Melissa. "I figured you both wouldn't mind staying dry."

Melissa's eyes widened and she nodded. "Oh yeah! Thanks a lot."

Quil jerked his head down once in a nod and took Claire's backpack off of her shoulder to carry for her, as was usual.

"Ready?" He asked, switching the umbrella to his left hand and her backpack to his own shoulder.

She nodded and she felt his right hand slip to the small of her back, guiding her gently underneath the umbrella as they walked out of the school. She never quite understood how he could be a wolf, work in as a mechanic, hunt and kill vampires with his bare hands but be such a gentleman to her. He certainly played very rough with the pack members, especially Jake and Embry.

Perhaps it was his age, he must have been brought up to treat women a little differently than teenagers now. He could fool anyone into thinking he was in his early twenties. That was thanks to the wolf genes and no aging policy, but he was chronologically 32 years old. He could easily pass for a conventional college student and most people thought he was her older brother. Except Melissa, she called him her puppy dog because he tended to follow her around wherever she went.

She walked carefully with her purse clutched to her chest, grateful for the shelter the umbrella provided. Her glasses were getting wet and difficult to see out of so she took them off and slipped them into her purse. She hated the foggy, dripping view through them in the rain.

Once she took them off she turned her head involuntarily to look at Quil only to find him staring at her, getting completely soaked from standing on the outside of the umbrella. Rather than share the huge contraption he was putting it solely over her so that she was in the middle, no rain could touch her from her head to her knees.

"Quil! You're getting soaked. Get under here." She demanded, pulling on his collar to bring him under the umbrella too.

This meant she had to scoot over to make room and her right shoulder was sprayed with the rain. Quil frowned toward her shoulder for a moment and moved the umbrella to cover her again, so by then his entire upper half was completely drenched.

"Don't worry about it." He said, grinning at her. "It feels pretty good, it's cooling me off."

She understood, if she looked closely enough she could see the steam he created from his face and neck getting wet. He winked at her, making a shiver run up her spine. She nodded once then spun on her heel and began walking slowly ahead. She squinted to see through the terenchal downpour, she knew the path well enough that she shouldn't trip on anything. She picked up her pace to keep Quil from getting too uncomfortable in the weather when, about ten feel from the truck, she stumbled over a rock.

Why was a rock in middle of the parking lot? It must have been washed onto the pavement from the near-flood. It didn't matter because her foot turned enough that it hurt her ankle and sent her careening for the cement. She squeaked out a surprised and slightly mouse-like shriek mid fall.

Rather than hit the ground she felt a rough, strong arm grab her by the waist and haul her upward. Rain showered her bottom and hands momentarily but the majority of her body did not even leave the protection of the umbrella. She pulled herself up with Quil's help and regained her sense of balance; he was grinning down at her and chuckling softly at her clumsiness.

"Klutz." He teased affectionately; like it was the most endearing nick-name she could have ever been given.

He let go of her waste but the moment all her weight was put on her feet her right ankle felt like it was attached by a lose thread. She sucked in a breath and gasped painfully, she was not the type of girl who yelled and screamed and cried, she had not been born with a flare for the dramatic.

She immediately stood on one foot and grabbed Quil's shoulder for support but his arm, still wrapped around her waste, tightened and pulled her up against him again instantly. She knew her face was scrunched up in pain, not severe agony, but still more than just slight discomfort. She pressed her forehead against his chest and moaned out a muffled "Ouch" against him.

Then he lifted her up off the ground and pinned her against his chest, she could have sworn she heard him gasp in pain the moment she did and wince right a long with her. She wrote it off as imagination, if he had gasped it would have been from surprise or amusement, there was no reason he would be hurt too.

Her purse was lying on the ground completely forgotten as her arms went around his neck and she hugged herself into the nook of his shoulder, exactly the spot where she had always cried herself to sleep when her parents fought endlessly during the night. She felt him start moving with her and turned her head in time to see him angrily kick the small stone she had tripped on across the parking lot and out of sight.

She chuckled wryly and he walked with her the remaining distance to the truck. Then he had the trouble of getting the door opened with his hand that held the umbrella. Somehow he managed it without once setting her down; she didn't worry about any of it at the time. She was comfortable and felt like her body was floating, in a daze from being held up against him. She knew it was wrong to feel this way about him; he didn't really belong to her. He wasn't her boyfriend and never would be.

But, as long as he was never the wiser, she would secretly pine away. No harm in that.

He set her on the passenger side seat of his truck and placed her backpack onto the floorboard beside her legs, he held the door open and the umbrella above them so no rain came inside.

"Do I need to stop and get…something?" he fumbled, his hands shaking slightly and eyes narrowed into slits. He stared at her backpack as if it were the bane of his existence.

"No. But, my purse?" She asked, wondering silently about his angry expression. He nodded and leaned away to shut the door.

She watched him walk stiffly over to her purse, which she was sure had been ruined, and march back over to the truck. The umbrella came in first and was shoved behind the seat. He placed her purse in the middle of the cab, shut the door, and sat in silence for several seconds.

"You okay?" She asked him, he immediately nodded and started the truck.

She was accustomed to laughing, teasing, perhaps a few sarcastic teases directed at her or her friends. Now there was silence, thick silence that made her scowl. He was gripping the steering wheel with enough forces that there were dents in the hard plastic.

"Quil?" She asked, he swallowed hard enough that she noticed his Adam's apple bob up and down. She had to resist the urge to imagine kissing it; she didn't need to live in her fantasy land at that moment.

"Yeah honey?" he answered. She would have enjoyed the endearment better if he had not always called her that. Even as a child she was called 'honey', 'sweetie', or Claire-Bear. Thank goodness he had finally given up her childhood nickname about two years ago. By the time she was sixteen she wondered if he would ever stop calling her by that horribly infantile name. Suddenly, after she turned sixteen and got her driver's license, she never heard him say it again.

And she certainly never protested the loss of it.

"Are you angry that I tripped on the rock?" She asked, not sure that there could be any other explanation for his sudden foul mood. Quil was never in a foul mood with her, she was unsure how to handle it. They never argued, not really.

Quil looked over at her and his face looked troubled, even pained. Perhaps he had hurt himself carrying her? She could hardly believe that because he had done it many times before and joked about her being light as a feather. She supposed it must be true for a werewolf.

"Yeah, I can't believe I didn't see it." He said. "I should have moved it or…I don't know, at least noticed it before you got hurt."

He sounded utterly disgusted with himself. She tried to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, you were too busy staring a hole through me. You didn't notice the ground." She said, adding a small laugh at the end at his expense.

He didn't laugh along with her, which was highly unusual. His sense of humor was historically as corny as hers. He got all her corny, stupid, lame jokes - if she ever told any.

He sighed. "I-I don't…" He stopped and did not say anything else the remainder of the ten minute ride to her house.

Her mother was at work when they arrived, as usual, so he broke out the umbrella again and carried her into the house. As they reached the porch he leaned the umbrella against the side of the door jam, then he could hold her infant-style as they entered the living room. He reached behind him and shut the door and she couldn't help but relish her fantasy of being carried across the threshold by Quil.

He laid her gently on the couch and kneeled at her feet to inspect her ankle. He picked it up and carefully slipped off her shoe, then her sock. She felt a blush creep up on her cheeks as his warm hands slid her pants leg up a few inches and grasped the soles of her feet, rolling her foot from side to side like a trained medical doctor.

She gasped as she felt the sudden tightness and her tender muscles protest the movement. He stopped instantly and grimaced, his eyes held more pain than her own ever could, and she briefly wondered if he was so empathetic that he could imagine her pain so easily he nearly felt it himself.

"Oh Claire, I'm so sorry baby." He mumbled, more to himself that to her.

"It's okay, Quil. Really." She said, eying him appreciatively as his clothes clung to his perfect shape.

She used the adjective 'perfect' far too much when describing Quil, but it couldn't be helped.

He walked out of the room before she could wonder down that tiresome train of thought; she would be a bundle of nerves and blushing far too much before the night was over if she allowed herself to indulge her infatuation.

He returned with a bag of ice and a cloth. He never put ice packs directly on her skin, he told her she was too delicate and it made her turn more red than he liked. She smiled as he fixed her with a propped up foot and pain medicine to boot. She shivered a few minutes later, more from the ice pack than the cold, but it did not go unnoticed. Nothing she ever did went unnoticed with Quil.

"You're cold." He said, beginning to unbutton his shirt. He walked away before she could get a full view of his naked chest, which she resented, only to turn on the dryer in the laundry room. She waited just a moment until he return from the bathroom carting a towel and was, to her delight, shirtless.

She eyed him blatantly as he used a towel to dry himself as best he could, then wrap it around his wet cut-off jeans to protect the couch from getting too damp.

"I'm better than an electric blanket." He said, smirking as he leaned her forward and sat himself behind her. "108 degrees of pure Quileute."

"No argument here." She said, leaning into his chest and feeling her heart triple when he put his arms around her. Surely this was not normal best friend behavior. Was she imagining his chivalry to be more that what it really was? Did she read too much into this?

"Better?" He asked, it sounded like his voice was husky. Her imagination running away with her again, wasn't it? Of course it was, it always did.

He rubbed her arms with his large hands for several minutes until they were scalding hot, but she never mention for him to stop. Then he wrapped them around her middle to hug her even closer, moving his left hand and flicking her ponytail playfully.

"Can I take your hair down?" He asked, his tone quiet and…nervous? Did she just hear his voice _tremble_?

She was going completely insane. Her desperately confounding infatuation had finally affected her mental capacity.

She reached her arm up to pull it down but he stopped her and tugged the band out of her hair with his free hand. She felt her long hair drape over her shoulders like a curtain. It was a plain, thin, and straight curtain, but soft nonetheless.

Both his arms enveloped her again and she could have sworn his face was buried in her own hair this time. She closed her eyes and licked her lips, which were suddenly very dry. She could not imagine that life could get much better than this, unless she was actually married to him and could do everything she dreamed about doing to him. That would indeed make life perfect.

She wasn't sure how long he held her for but it must have been at least an hour or longer. He rubbed her shoulders and messaged her neck; he traced her jaw line with his thumb and leaned forward to kiss her temple. She wasn't imagining all this; Quil was being so affectionate and loving.

He must have felt _very_ guilty for not seeing that rock. But that was Quil, he was a master at blaming himself for anything bad that ever happened to her. Things that could not possibly have been his fault he felt the need to apologize for. She didn't mind this time, if guilt made him hold her this tenderly she could certainly never complaint about it. She might have to find a few more rocks to trip on soon.

They both heard her mother's car pull up in the driveway. Quil let out a long sigh and leaned them both up so he could stand, taking the towel away from his pants. She leaned back down against the pillowed armrest and folded her hands on her stomach, waiting for her mother to enter.

Quil looked down at her with an expression she did not recognize, but she had to squint to see him without her glasses on so perhaps she just didn't get a clear enough view. Whatever the look was it was forgotten when he bent down to place a kiss on her forehead, which lingered much longer than his usual pecks in the past. Then his lips traveled across her face to her temple and he kissed her there again.

She breathed in through her nose deeply as he slid his lips down to her cheek and kissed her there as well. She was going to hyperventilate, faint, and then die blissfully. Or her heart was going to explode before she had the chance to faint. Would he kiss her mouth? Could he actually see her in the same light she saw him? It was too much to hope for, too much to believe possible.

Without realizing, her head move the tiniest millimeter toward him, her lips began to pucker of their own accord and her eyes fluttered closed. She wanted this. She wanted him so badly she could feel every goosebump on her skin tingle with anticipation. Then she realized she was only fabricating it, because he pulled away and she instantly lost the connection.

It was gone. She was breathing normally again and her eyes widened only slightly at the loss. He was staring down at her, mouth agape and eyes wider than she had ever seen. Was he shocked at her? Did he even notice what her body had done on its own? Surely he had been too close to really see any of that.

He gulped. _Gulped_, loudly enough that she could hear it over the buzzing in her ears. He straighten up a split second before her mother entered the room, standing rigidly by the couch.

"Quil." Her mother said in greeting, eying his state of undress with furrowed eyebrows.

"Danielle." He offered, nodding at her. "Um, it was raining really bad earlier. My shirt's in the dryer.""

She shut the door behind her and seemed to notice Claire for the first time, foot and all.

"Oh, Claire, what happened?" She asked, concern overtaking her suspicion. What she had to be suspicious of what beyond Claire. Quil practically live with them, he was always around.

Not shirtless, though. That might have been the problem.

"What did you do?" She asked, removing the ice pack for a moment to examine her foot. It was barely swollen and not bruised at all, she couldn't move it though without pain.

"I tripped on a rock." Claire answered calmly and her mother made a pained face in sympathy.

"Good, it's not broken." She said, looking over at Quil with relief and whispered: "Thank you."

Quil nodded and her mother left to begin dinner in the kitchen. She was beginning to get a headache from squinting too much and finally looked up at Quil for help, but before she could ask him to fetch her glasses she took in his countenance.

He looked...strange, a good kind of strange. He was staring at the wall, one hand balled into a fist around the towel and the other raking roughly through his short hair. But his face caught her attention more than anything. He had this big, goofy grin plastered on him like he had won some sort of huge prize; his eyes were sparkling with extreme...joy?

"Quil?" She asked and his eyes were on her instantly, still in that same state of awe.

"Yeah?" He asked excitedly, she could almost see him bouncing.

"Could you get my glasses?" She asked and he was out of the door before she finished her sentence. What was wrong with him? She couldn't figure it out, he was so giddy all of a sudden.

He came back with her purse and handed it to her. "Here baby."

She quirked her eyebrows and took the purse, removing her glasses first and then emptying the contents onto the table to dry. Her purse was ruined, leather didn't hold up against rain. She was relieved when her glasses were back on and everything was in focus. When she looked up Quil was watching her again, more intently now than before.

She felt a chill run up her spine at his expression. She didn't recognize it, even with her glasses on.

"Sorry 'bout your purse." He mumbled, his eyes still locked on hers.

"It's okay. I have more."

He nodded and sat beside her on the couch, reaching his hand out to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. They were silver glasses without rims on bottom. She used to own thicker black ones but had finally been persuaded by her mother to go with frames a bit less noticeable. She tried many times to get Claire contacts but the idea of touching her eye made her stomach queasy.

She smiled at him and he used the same hand that had pushed up her glasses to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She bit back a gasp when his fingers traced her jaw and down her neck before landing back against his side again. He had never done that before. What was going on?

Suddenly she remember her exciting news, but she had to whisper so her mother wouldn't hear. She wanted Quil to be the first to know, not even Melissa was in on the secret yet.

"Hey, I have a wonderful secret." She whispered to him, knowing Quil could hear her perfectly even though she barely breathed out the words.

He leaned in closer until their noses were barely two inches apart. She held her breath and blinked rapidly, fighting off a dizzy spell.

"I want in on it." He said, his eyes were blazing. It was intense. She couldn't find another word to describe it. She let out the haggard breath she had been holding.

She winced as how badly she stammered. "I-I got a l-letter in the mail yesterday."

She could tell when his eyes shifted from burning to confused that she had lost him. He was expecting her to say something else, but she couldn't begin to guess what. When she didn't continue he nodded at her.

"Go on." He ushered.

"Well, I have a full scholarship to Seattle University." She said, but from the way his face fell the moment the word 'scholarship' exited her mouth she didn't quite put the exciting spin on it she had wanted to.

His eyes darkened, he was frowning, his eyebrows began to furrow into a scowl. She felt him begin to shake just slightly next to her and the muscles in his jaw tightened, in fact every single one of his muscles tightened. Without his shirt on she could see them all bunch and tense right in front of her.

She was instantly concerned. "Quil?" She asked, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice at his reaction.

She thought he, above all others, would be ecstatic about her achievement.

In a split second his face was wiped clean of all tension and his shaking stopped. His face was monotone, his eyes dead, but he put on a fake smile for her and nodded.

"That's great." He said, his voiced sounded dry and strained. "You...deserve it."

It seemed to take all his strength to say those simple words, then he stood up and walked away. She frowned deeply and listened to his footsteps end in the laundry room, then the dryer stopped. When he came back through his shirt was thrown on haphazardly and he seemed disoriented, pacing the room and few times before calling to her mother.

"I'm not staying for dinner." He yelled a little more loudly than necessary.

Danielle walked to the open dining room and looked curiously at Quil. It was a wholly unusual thing for Quil not to stay as long as possible.

"Is everything okay?" She asked, then taking in his frazzled appearance she looked between he and Claire several times before a look of suspension replaced one of concern.

"Everything fine." He snapped at her, then winced at his own words. Claire's eyes widened at Quil and so did her mother's. She had never heard him act rudely with her or her mother in all the years she had known him. All sixteen of them.

He glanced between the two women and hung his head dejectedly. He mumbled something that sounded like "Sorry. Gotta go." And was out of the door starting his truck the next minute.

Claire stared at the closed door long after the sound of his truck had faded into the distance. Her mother had to repeat her name several times before she actually reacted to the sound, by then her mother was directly above her almost yelling at her to explain what had happened.

She told her mother the absolute truth. She had no idea whatsoever what was wrong with Quil.


	3. Exclusion

Chapter 3: Exclusion

_"There are only four questions of value in life.  
What is sacred?  
Of what is the spirit made of?  
What is worth living for?  
What is worth dying for?  
The answer to each is the same. Only love."_

- **Don Juan Demarco**

Claire's plans to visit Port Angeles with Melissa were shot because of her foot. She hated being an invalid but even worse was not seeing Quil. She wasn't sure that she had gone more than a day without seeing him in her entire life and even then he would call regularly. This time she heard nothing from him, not a call, not a visit.

It was strange. And it was disheartening.

Late Saturday evening she finally lost the internal debate with herself and called him. It rang for several seconds until his voicemail picked up.

"Hey, It's Quil. You know what to do." His rugged voice made her hair stand on end, then came the beep. She couldn't leave a message; she couldn't think of anything to say. She ended the call and stuck the phone as far out of her reach as possible so she wouldn't be tempted to call again.

She pulled out The Once and Future King and began reading where she had left off, trying earnestly to forget about Quil and his odd behavior. She did not overlook the fact that he had become distant since her news of college. She knew it would be difficult for her family to except, and for her to cut ties, but she never thought Quil would take it to heart.

Couldn't he see this was for the best? Didn't he realize that she needed space from him if she was ever going to get over this terrible case of puppy love?

She flipped the page and continued reading, though she wasn't nearly as interested in the book as she had been the day before.

-

The cookout with family went very stiffly. She could tell there was an air of animosity amongst the pack, oddly enough it all seemed to be directed at her. It was small, subtle things that made her think this way. Like when Paul rolled his eyes, in no way being playful, when she asked for more water to drink.

She was sitting on the couch with her foot bandaged and a crutch leaning against the armrest beside her. She didn't think it was too much to ask, he was already walking and getting himself some more. He practically spilled the water when he jerked it in front of her. Even though her face was purely one of grieved curiosity, he silently sat back down in the chair and did not look over at her again.

That was not the only occurrence but it was the most obvious. She caught pack members giving her stares, cold ones like she was the reason for the rain that drowned out a parade. She had never felt uncomfortable around any of them before, not even once she found out their shape-shifting secret four years earlier. That should have been a mood-killer, but she had always excepted the weird and learned to love it.

She was unsure at first, uncomfortable after an hour, and intimidated by the time dinner was ready. She could see Quil outside on the deck but he never came indoors. He sulked, or seemed to sulk, as he rocked in a rocking chair staring into the rain.

She wanted to ask what was wrong, if there was anything she could do to help. But the one time she got up and hobbled her way to the door he jumped up from his rocking chair and helped her sit back down on the couch.

"You should rest your foot." He told her, then was gone again and sitting on the porch.

She huffed at him in irritation but that only earned her an uncomfortable silence from her portion of the room. It was too crowded in the house for it to be completely silent, but the four people she was sitting near did not even look at her after that. She felt relieved when Emily announced that the food was done and the pack formed a line toward the kitchen.

Claire had no appetite though she had not eaten since breakfast, which was only half a bagel. No, her stomach was twisted into knots from the bizarre behavior she had encountered from everyone. The only person she wanted to talk to was her aunt Emily, but she had been too preoccupied cooking the enormous dinner to notice the peculiarities going on in the house.

Claire looked around to make sure no one was watching her, which they weren't, and made her way to the bathroom. She closed the door, locked it, and sat on the edge of the tub. She crossed her arms and folded her hands in her lap, wondering what could have made her feel like such an outsider among friends.

She tried very hard not to cry, she hated crying. She was hardly ever emotional enough to do it. But it seemed that everything hit her all at once. Graduation was a mere three weeks away, moving to Seattle was coming next month, Quil was more distant than ever in her life, and to top it all of her group of closet friends were being cold.

She felt the tears well up in her eyes and tried her utmost to keep them from falling, but failed. She didn't want anyone else to see her cry, so when a knock came on the door she croaked out a muffled "Just a minute." She felt that familiar and absurdly accurate 'tug', like a string was pulling her toward the door.

Without looking or asking she knew Quil was standing behind it.

There was a thirty second pause and she could tell he had still not walked away. She knew he must be waiting on her to finish so she took the toilet paper and dried her eyes, trying to look as normal as possible. As she stood and glanced in the mirror she could tell her eyes were red but, luckily, her glasses hid the evidence well.

She opened the door with every intention of darting to Emily and Sam's bedroom until she knew the others would be finished eating. When she opened the door, eyes downcast, and tried to slip by the too-warm body in front of her she went rigid as he grasped her shoulders.

She would not look up at him. She couldn't, not with her crying like she was. She was being too hormonal, too dramatic. She _hated_ being illogical.

He wouldn't have it. She felt him take his right hand away from her shoulder and try to tilt her chin up, she fought at first but it was useless. The gentle push made her give in and she met his eyes for the first time in two days. She couldn't control herself. As if his brown eyes were an unseen trigger she felt her tears reemerge in full force, her face scrunched against her will.

"Honey," He said, his voice pain-filled and remorseful. "What is it?"

She shook her head but it made him reach his arms around her and hug her body against his own. She was warming quickly from touching his skin as he rubbed circles on her back. Giving in, she leaned her head against his chest and sniffed a few times before reigning in her rampant emotions.

"I'm fine." She choked out, but her voice was too wet and coated with tears to sound convincing.

"You never cry." He whispered down to her. "Please, you're killing me. What is it? What's wrong?"

She shook her head against his chest and gave a muffled "Nothing" by way of answer. He was not buying it. He led her slowly to Emily and Sam's room, shutting the door behind them. He helped her to the bed, though she could have made it on her own, then sat next to her. She could hear the bed springs moan in protest from his added weight, the side of the bed leaning her down toward him.

She wiped her eyes roughly until he stopped her and took her glasses off, using his rough thumbs to wipe her face dry. She tried not to think about how very romantic the gesture would have been given better circumstances. Now he took her hands in his own and pressed his thumbs into her wrists.

It was relaxing and she felt her tension melting away. It was as if he had been the cure for her dilemma all along.

"Is it me?" He asked. "Did I upset you?"

She thought for a few moments before answering, looking up at him as she did so.

"I missed you." She said, berating herself for sounding so pitiful.

Quil leaned himself over and put an arm around her. "I missed you too."

"Are you angry with me?" She asked, knowing her voice sounded small even in her own ears.

He shook his head quickly. "Never."

She nodded and let the confusion etch into her face. "Then...why? You didn't even answer my call."

She watched his face fall and his eyes begin to scrutinize the fabric of the bed cover far too diligently. He wouldn't meet her eyes as he shrugged carelessly and whispered something close to "I was busy."

She sighed and looked away. "And the others, are they upset too?"

His head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

His voice was not harsh with her but she could tell she had hit some kind of nerve with the question.

"I thought maybe you might have... said something. I don't know, about being angry with me." She frowned as his eyes looked away from her and narrowed at the wall.

"What happened? Did someone say something to you?" He asked quickly, almost angrily.

She shook her head. "No, no. Of course not. I just...I'm probably just imagining things."

He began to shake his head. "No. You don't do that. You don't read between the lines."

His point was said so matter-of-fact that she couldn't feel insulted by it. She knew it was the truth. She was far from intuitive when it came to reading other people.

"I feel shunned." She confessed, whispering her insight as lowly as humanly possible. The super-sonic hearing the pack had was sometimes a pain when keeping secrets. "I know that sounds crazy."

She felt him tense up behind her, then he stood and looked down at her. He was fierce to behold when angry, muscles clenched and jaw set. Had he been directing the anger at her she would have felt more concerned but, since he was not, she decided it was utterly attractive.

She had never felt more drawn to him than she did in that moment.

"Stay here just a minute. I'll be right back." He ordered, walking out of the bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

It took several minutes before Claire heard a commotion from outside, not outside the door but outside of the house. She scowled and stood up, using her crutch to make her way to the only window in the room. It was difficult to see from that angle but it looked like most of the pack was standing in a semi-circle around Quil.

And Quil was ticked off. Royally. She could see his shouting form rigid with rage from that distance, through the rain, and without her glasses. Again, she felt an overwhelming amount of desire hit her before she shook her head and watched Paul yell something at Quil.

Quil shoved Paul hard enough that he rammed into a nearby tree and stood up shaking like a leaf. He was not scared, she knew that, and recognized from Quil's many bed-time stories the telltale signs of phasing. Her eyes were wide as she watched in acute interest for Paul to phase, she had always wanted to see it happen.

She really wanted to see Quil phase but doubted that would ever be a possibility. Disappointed, she turned her head away from the scene as Emily opened the door and walked inside. She could see Kim and Rachel standing at the end of the hallway but not coming any closer than necessary to the door. They both looked curious but not angry, which relieved Claire to no end.

Emily shut the door behind her.

"Claire, I'm so sorry." She said. "Really, I had no idea you were feeling left out."

Claire felt a blush creep up on her face at her aunt's words. She felt shameful for admitting to Quil her secret, she hadn't wanted anyone else to know.

"It's okay. It's not a big deal." She said. "I didn't ask Quil to fix anything."

Emily let a sad smile play on her beautiful, scarred face before patting the edge of the bed.

"Come sit down with me. Let's talk." She said, and Claire eased her way over to the bed.

"Really Aunt Em, I'm fine." She reassured her, knowing that Emily was rarely in a sad mood.

"Claire, I think you need to understand where Quil and all of us are coming from. None of us meant to hurt your feelings." She began, and Claire could tell this was a speech her Aunt wanted to make.

She nodded and grabbed her glasses from the bed to put them on. She wanted to see everything clearly.

"It's hard for Quil to think about you leaving." She said, Claire was instantly shocked that Emily knew her secret.

"Quil told you?" She asked, more than a little hint of betrayal in her voice. She had always trusted Quil with all her secrets, he had never told any of them that she knew of.

"He couldn't help it." Emily was quick to explain. "When he was patrolling with Paul and Embry yesterday he was thinking about it. So, they knew by default."

Claire nodded and her feelings of insecurity faded. She could handle Quil's telepathy with the pack. She couldn't handle him abusing her trust just to spite her, which was an absurd thought to have so she quickly rid herself of it. She knew Quil would never intentionally hurt her, neither physically nor emotionally.

"So I guess they told the others." Claire guessed.

"Pretty much. It was thought about, so eventually they all knew." She said, patting her hand. "Congratulations, you deserve the scholarship and the best education you can get."

Claire nodded and tried to form a weak smile. "I don't think Quil liked the idea. He wasn't happy at all."

Emily nodded once and seemed to debate with herself about what she said next.

"Quil wants the very best for you." She said carefully. "But I know he will miss you terribly when you go."

An insurmountable feeling of guilt pressed in on her and she found it difficult to breathe for a moment.

"It's not that far." She said, her throat suddenly dry. "We can visit, use a webcam...send smoke signals."

Emily snorted at her lame joke but Claire could barely smirk at it. She had not thought very much about how much she would miss Emily and all the others while she was gone. Her mother, Quil, the pack, La Push...she felt homesick before she even graduated. It was depressing.

"Yes, you're right." She said, then added a bit too loudly: "You have an opportunity that very few people around here get. We are all very proud of you...especially Quil. Never doubt that."

Claire gave a small, unpersuasive smile as Emily stood and kissed her forehead.

"Come and eat with us, there won't be anything left if you wait much longer." She said, holding out her hand.

Claire took it and used her crutch to walk into the living room. All the pack members, including Paul and Quil, were back inside. They all greeted her enthusiastically, perhaps a bit _too_ enthusiastically to be genuine. But she overlooked it and made herself a plate to eat, Quil was beside her the next minute helping her carry it all to the couch.

Kim, Rachel, and several other friends congratulated her on her achievement throughout the night. They talked about Seattle, asked about her dorm ideas or area of study. They asked about a car and she commented that she would have to start saving up to buy one because, as it looked, she would be riding a bike everywhere in Seattle for the first few months.

Quil stayed by her side the rest of the night and did not go back to the porch. He was not his normal, flippant self. He was not giddy, joking or sarcastic. He ate in silence and refilled her drinks as she needed, then threw away their plates when they were finished.

They group tried to all play a few games, like "werewolf charades" or card games. The others would start telling their wild, outrageous stories of taking down the Vamps in the forest. But Quil did not join in the fun, he sat leaned against the back of the couch with his arm loosely draped over Claire's shoulders, making her nearly sweat from the heat.

She did not remove him or move away. She would gladly take the extreme heat in order to sit next to him. She worried about his monotone voice, his lifeless expression and lack of enthusiasm. She had never seen him like this, not in the sixteen years she had known him. It unnerved her and she did not know how to help.

Quil asked to take her home, which would never have been a question at all before that weekend. She agreed instantly and after it was already late at night he drove her home silently, his hand resting on her knee as they sat in the cab of his old truck. The heat from his hand made her knee and leg feel like it was next to a radiator.

"Where were Jake and Nessie?" She asked, at a loss for what she could possibly say that would evoke a smile from him.

"They had an anniversary yesterday." He answered in a tone of resignation that his voice never held, one she did not recognize. "So they're gone for the weekend."

She nodded and put her hand slowly over his, making her hand tingle from the contact and warm automatically. She had held his hand before so she did not see the problem with it now.

"Where did they go?" She asked, then added as an afterthought: "And how long have they been married now?"

The corner of Quil's mouth lifted in the faintest of smiles.

"Um, I think they went to some Island in the tropics." He said, now nearly a full-fledged grin on his face. "You know, for privacy."

She felt herself flush from the passing thought of what they were doing on their anniversary get-away, only to have herself come crashing back into reality as Quil's hand slid a few inches up her leg. It was not a brazen move, not yet. He was still within the boundaries of what might still be considered a friendly, non-sexually advancing touch.

But it was close. She shivered, and not from the cold. On the contrary, between the warmth he spread throughout the cab and the heat she felt building up within her own skin she doubted an ice-burg wouldn't melt in her presence. She felt his thumb interlock with two of her fingers and hold them gingerly.

"I think they're celebrating five years." He said, she felt him glance over at her as they rounded the corner and her house came into view. "But I'm not sure, they've been together forever."

Claire nodded. "Yeah, I remember they were engaged for years. I wonder why that was."

Quil's grin turned into a smirk as he pulled the truck into the drive and put it into park.

"Edward." He answered, jeering slightly at a memory Claire was instantly curious about.

"Man, that guy couldn't let her go. And Bella didn't help much. Nessie grew up so fast they didn't want to admit that she was an adult."

Claire nodded, knowing that Nessie was half Vampire and half human. They had been friends for many years but the age gap that presented itself left them unable to form a truly close bond. She wondered, now that she was an adult herself, if she and Nessie could attempt a close friendship now.

Quil scooted over in the cab and moved his hand from her upper leg to her shoulder, pulling her in for a long hug. He rubbed her shoulder blade with his hand and put his face into her hair, his hips turned oddly away because of the gear shift.

"Claire." He said, moving his free hand to wrap around her waist. "We should work out how we're going to...visit, when you go."

She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. She had told Emily they would stay in touch but part of doing all this was to get away from Quil. To let them both find someone else to get attached to. Why was Quil doing this to her? Didn't he see how hard he was making it?

"Quil, I don't expect you to drive up to Seattle all the time." She said, she felt him tense up slightly next to her.

"No, not drive. But once I phase I can get there in no time." He said, moving his right hand from her shoulder into her hair. "As long as I'm not working or patrolling I can come see you."

Claire playfully hit his chest with her hand. "You can't seriously be planning to run three and a half hours both ways every week. That's insane."

Quil tugged on her hair to make her look up at him and the dead-serious look on his face sobered her.

"I'll run it every day if I need to. I have to see you Claire, you can't expect me to..." He swallowed and closed his eyes. "We have to work something out."

Claire's mouth hung open for a few minutes and finally, for the first time in years, she got angry at Quil.

"Quil Ateara! Stop that right now." She scolded, earning herself a shocked look from Quil. She was hardly yelling at him, she never did that, but she was acting like a mother who had found her son with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Don't look at me like that. You are just making this so much harder." She said, pushing away from him. She began to feel pangs of regret as soon as he let her go. It was like her body craved to be near him and now she was in withdrawal.

"I'm trying to make it easier." His wounded tone sent a stab of pain through her chest.

"I know you are. I appreciate that." She said, clearing her throat. "Quil, I'm just wondering if you and I...if _we _really need to continue...this, whatever we're doing, on into college."

Quil's face fell and his mouth hung slack. She could not have seen a more bewildered expression on his face if she had slapped him then and there.

"You...you're...are you ending this?" He asked, breathlessly fighting for the right words. "Us? You're wanting to stop...seeing me?"

She felt ashamed, for a reason she could not understand. She felt like she was killing him, slowly and painfully with her words.

"We're not dating." She said meekly, then added: "Are we?"

"No." He said, seeming unsure himself of the answer. "No, but I never stopped you from dating."

"No, you didn't. But as long as you were around I didn't feel the need." She almost instantly regretted saying the words as soon as they left her mouth. She had come dangerously close to confessing her crush to him. She clamped her mouth shut and refused to say more.

Quil looked at her and his expression softened. "Really?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter, I just...with college I don't know if we should -"

"Wait, Claire, I need to know. How do you feel about me?" He asked, cutting her off. She looked up at him, desperate to get out of the cab.

"What? I...you're my best friend." She gasped when he tried to put his arms around her again.

"But, what do you feel? Is that all you want me to be, just your friend?" He didn't seem to be asking questions now, he was demanding them.

She bit the insides of her cheeks and reached behind her to grab the door handle. Her heart was pounding almost out of her chest and she needed to get away. Her clammy hands found the door handle and pulled it, very nearly sending her sprawling out on the ground.

She couldn't sit in the cab any longer and listen to him. If she confessed, if she told him everything she was _really_ thinking he would laugh at her. He would be appalled...he would be uncomfortable around her. Her brain kept telling her that's what she wanted, if she told him the truth now he wouldn't be adamant about keeping up contact while she was gone to college.

But her heart wouldn't let her. She convulsed at the idea of losing him. So she hopped out of the cab before Quil had the chance to open the door for her and help her, then slammed it shut as he made his way over to her.

"Claire, stop. You'll hurt herself." He said, trying to grab her arm to assist.

"I'm fine. Really, I'm not handicapped." She said, leaning as little on him as possible to get up the stairs. "Quil, you can let go now. I can make it."

"Doubt it." He said, a grin on his face and eyes dancing like she had not seen all day.

When she made it to her door and as they walked inside she shooed him out. She usually would have let him take her to bed and help her in, but not that night. She needed her space and desperately had to come up with Plan B.

Plan A had failed miserably and no amount of time away from college was going to let her forget about Quil, even if her heart would allow it.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He said and she tried to shut the door on him.

"Claire." He said and stopped the door easily with his foot. "Don't worry. Calm down. It'll all be okay."

She couldn't help but smile as she noticed his confidence and somewhat daunting optimism had returned. She shook her head at him and nudged his foot with her crutch.

"Move it bigfoot, I'm tired and cranky." She said, earning herself a lingering kiss on her forehead.

"Go to bed, then." He said, using the arm he could easily slip through the door to reach out to her. His hand stroked her cheek sweetly, she had to catch herself before closing her eyes and leaning into the warmth of it.

"Goodnight." He said and the intensity of his stare was too much. She squeaked out a noise that was an attempt at saying "goodnight" as well, but it sounded more like the shriek of a mouse.

She shut the door, locked it, and hobbled her way to her bed. She heard a wolf howl from the woods outside her window and wondered faintly if it could possibly be a member of the pack. It was a foolish notion, why would anyone in the pack camp out by her house?

So she shuffled to her dresser and picked out clothes. That night she thought of nothing but Quil as she changed into her nightgown, saw only Quil's face as she dreamed, and heard only Quil's voice repeat over and over in her head. It was a peaceful sleep and she enjoyed every minute of it.

She would just have to try and get over him another day.

* * *

**Good? Bad? **

**Shouldn't quit my day job?**

**Let me know!**


End file.
